Colors of Suikoden
by PsychoLeopard
Summary: Mostly reflections of certain characters from all the Suikodens. Some spoilers, but I try to let you know in the author's notes at the beginning of the chapters. Cookies if you review!
1. The Color of a Sword

**Colors**

_My angsty way of working out what my muse-bunnies inflict upon me. The POV changes with each story, even though they might be in first person. Characters might be OOC, but then, I haven't actually played all the games. Some of the stories are purposely ambiguous, so if you can't decide who it's supposed to be, I did it on purpose just to torment you. Pick whichever character you think it fits. I don't own Suikoden, or even a copy of the game, much to my sorrow. (:sob:) Oh well, on with the words!_

_**Spoiler Alert!** This may be a spoiler if you haven't passed a certain point in SI, having to do with Odessa._

**The Color of a Sword:**

I wake with a start from a dream, and reach for my sword. I can't remember what the dream was about, but I know it was a dream of you. I need the comfort of my sword, lying next to the bed. I grasp the hilt and draw it to me, running my fingers over the familiar blade. The room is dark, too dark to see, but I don't need to see it to read the markings etched into it.

To the casual observer, or to a stranger, there would be nothing remarkable about this sword. Silver in color, made of good steel, it would simply seem to be a replaceable weapon with a meaningless word marked on it.

To me, that word is far from meaningless. To me, that word means everything. Nor do I see this sword as merely a weapon. To me it is a symbol, a memory, and the representation of you.

I close my eyes against the suffocating darkness, feeling the tears welling against my lashes. How long has it been since I lost you? Too long, and not long enough. They say time heals all wounds, dulls all pain. Well, I suppose that's true enough. I no longer feel the gut-wrenching, mind-numbing agony I did when they told me how you had died. I no longer feel like screaming just remembering that I was not there to say goodbye. Instead, it is a stab through the heart, a mere ache of loss that never leaves. During the day, I can laugh and joke, pretending that nothing is wrong. But during the night…that is when I cannot deny my grief.

I am able, sometimes, to remember you with a fond smile. I don't break down in tears at the mere mention of you. But then, so few mention your name, anymore. Almost everybody has forgotten you, even though it was you who started the movement. Your name, your deeds…have been eclipsed by _his_. Not that I blame him, anymore. I realized, eventually, that someone had to take up where you left off. He did a good job, accomplishing far more than anyone would have guessed a child could have done. And by the time he was done, he had gone through more hell than anyone deserves.

The few people who remember you, who fought with you, do not mention your name to me. They won't even say it where there's a possibility it might come back to my ears. They think they are doing me a kindness. I suppose, perhaps they are. But if your name is all I can have of you, then I would gladly take that, despite the pain. Like a child who puts his hands into the fire to touch the "pretties," even though he will get burned, I can't seem to stop.

You were my reason for fighting, my purpose for being. You never wanted to hear me say that. Maybe you knew, or suspected, what would happen to me if you died. I loved you so much, more than anything else in this world. That's why…that's why…I thought it was a foolish tradition, before I met you. Something for heroes in ballads to do, not me. But you, with your fire and your fight, you made me believe again. So I engraved your name on my blade, to remind me whenever I drew it just what I was fighting for.

I still fight for you, you know. We won your war, but there are other wars just like it to be fought. I fight for the same reasons…for justice, for truth, for hope…for love. Perhaps our love had no chance, but I would like for others to have what we lost. For all the young couples, like Tengaar and Hix; and the older couples, like Alex and Hilda…it's for them that I fight. I don't want anyone else to suffer the loss that I did.

As I run my fingers over your name, it seems I can almost see you, standing in front of me. Your red hair is down, and your bright blue eyes are looking straight at me. You smile, and I can't help smiling back. It is more than just your physical beauty that drew me to you. You had a spirit that nothing could quench. You put fire into even the coldest rocks. Your eyes, your smile…they bewitched and entranced me. And your voice…even ordinary topics were made exciting when you spoke. How could people not be swayed, when you spoke of overthrowing a decaying government?

Sometimes I think perhaps it was best, that I was not there are the end. My last memory of you is when you were smiling, in command of the situation. I don't want to know if you lost your beauty at the end. I don't think I could have borne listening to that musical voice fail. I know you never lost your generous spirit. Your last request was to keep your movement, your army, headed towards the goal. And you gave me words, too. Even at your death, you thought of others.

_Tell Flik…if you ever see him again, that his kindness always saw me through hard times…_

My kindness? You were the strong, kind one, not I. But it touched me: that I had meant something to you. I never saw your tears, but perhaps I dried them, all the same.

There is no one here to dry my tears, now. I could change that, if I chose, of course. There are any number of girls who would like to take your place. Some of them are very persistent. But not one of them could ever be one tenth of the woman you were. Perhaps my mind has made you greater over time than you really were, because I have yet to meet any woman who is your equal, let alone your superior. It would be unfair of me to lead any girl on, letting her think I could love her, when I would be forever comparing her to you. Perhaps, in time…in a time far into the future, it might be possible.

They tell me I should move on. Three years is long enough to mourn what is lost. They don't understand, and I don't bother to explain it to them. If I move on from you, you who are my purpose, what would that leave me? I would be either a broken shell of a man, staring blankly at the world around him and not caring one bit what was happening, or I would revert to a childish, self-centered, passionate warrior with far too hot a temper and too fallow a mind. You took that hot-headed adolescent and made him into an honorable fighter. You took a name-less warrior, and transformed him into a legend. It was because you thought I could be great, that I became so. I only regret that you did not live to see what you had wrought in me.

My tears have dried on my cheeks, and my mind has quieted. I am once again at peace in my soul. Though it is often you that throws me into turmoil, it is always you who calms me again. Knowing I will be able to fall back to sleep, now, I bring my sword to my lips, and kiss it. This is as close as I can come to kissing you, by showing a sentimental affection for my symbol of you. I set the blade down again, and lay back on my pillows. As I close my eyes, I whisper, "_Goodnight, Odessa."_


	2. The Color of Pride

_Disclaimer: I still don't own Suikoden or even copies of the game._

_This one is from SIII. Thanks to everyone who reviewed!_

_Possible Spoiler, but not necessarily._

**The Color of Pride**

I look at you, and I cannot help but stare in wonder. The wind ruffles your extraordinary hair, teasing you, as if the wind itself wants to show you off. Indeed, there is much to show, and even more on the inside. Your form seems so fragile, too fragile for the burdens you have taken…but you are strong. I know you are stronger than anyone ever thought possible.

And then I look at your eyes, and I see more than strength. I see determination, and faith, and promise. You are a leader already. You lead your own people with a strong voice and a strong mind. And I think you could lead others. You will lead them.

I remember wondering, when you were young, how you would grow without a father to support and govern you. But you…you never needed a father. You grew strong without one. You have become more than either I or anyone else could have imagined. You are more than just a warrior, though you will be a fighter until your last breath. You have become a champion of right, a _hero_.

And what really makes me proud, is that I know you are doing it for the right reasons. Maybe you weren't when you started, but you are now. I can see that, shining in your eyes and your words. And you aren't above learning something and admitting you might be wrong. You have lost and you have learned. I am amazed at the burden you have shouldered so willingly. I do not think I could have done it half so well as you. Promise me you will keep learning and growing, through all the years of your life. What am I thinking? Of course you will.

I just wanted to say, I am proud of you, my child.


	3. The Color of a Plan

_Because it wouldn't be Suikoden without Silverbergs._

_Disclaimer: Nope, I still don't own it._

_**Spoiler!** The end of S III, so if you haven't gotten to the final confrontation, read at your own risk!_

**The Color of a Plan**

Rain pattered against the window in a steady rhythm, lending dejection to an already dreary gray sky. The red-haired strategist stared out the window without really seeing, lost in thought. Behind him, candles lit a desk covered with reports and papers, and a table holding a map, with counters spread across it, indicating his forces and his enemy's.

Anyone who entered would probably chide him for staring at the rain, instead of at the map. He was supposed to be planning their next move, after all. But he, unlike lesser strategists, did not need the assistance of books and plans. He was a Silverberg, and Silverbergs needed nothing but their own minds. Besides, his own head showed him the picture so much more clearly than the stupid markers on an inadequate map.

Not that he _couldn't_ use markers. Of course he could. His training had been very complete. He just didn't see the point. There was so much more to strategy than moving little red and blue markers around on a map. It was fascinating, to try to predict what moves the enemy would make. After all, humanity was so fickle. The enemy could run in more directions than one. You couldn't see that as clearly with markers.

Would his brother think of all the options, he wondered? They had been taught the same, but they both brought different beliefs to the battlefield. One was fighting for power and ambition, and the other was fighting to end the war and save the continent from certain destruction. Was it even possible to see the same things, through two so different lenses?

He didn't hate his brother. He crossed his arms over his chest and ran that thought through his mind again. No, he didn't hate his brother. He was disappointed, yes. He wanted more than anything to prove out as the better strategist, most definitely. But he did not want his brother to die, and he did not want his brother destroyed. He just wanted—needed—to win.

Tomorrow would be their last chance. If they lost tomorrow, it was over. Not for him, necessarily. Silverbergs tended to walk away from the war no matter which side they were on. But for the army, and for his leader, there would be little hope. And if they won tomorrow, well then, that would finish it too. Both sides knew this was the last battle. Both strategists knew this was their last chance.

The True Runes Luc had gathered would be in different places in the ruins. Luc would be at the center. Each rune would need a protector. How could he use that to his advantage?

He would think of a plan, he was sure. Besides, that was for later. First there was the battle to get through. What path would be best? Where could they retreat to? He ran through the strategy he had chosen for the hundredth time, searching for anything he might have forgotten or left out. He had compensated for the use of runes, and cavalry, and infantry. Monsters and true soldiers. What would his brother think of, that he might have forgotten? No matter. He would just have to react on the spur of the moment, tomorrow. He was perfectly capable of formulating or reformulating a plan in the middle of a battle. It was not ideal, perhaps, but he could do it.

He watched in the reflection as the door opened. He composed his face, even though he would not let the other person see it. He just couldn't let others know that this was hard for him in any way. He must be cool and collected and in control.

"It's on the desk," he said coolly, without turning or waiting for the question.

The other walked over to the desk and picked up the paper on which he had written his strategy. The other looked it over for a moment, and nodded. "Good."

"We may have to change it quickly, tomorrow," he reminded the other.

The other glanced over at the redhead. "Fine." The other walked to the door and closed it firmly on the way out. The redhead turned back to the window, studying his reflection again. "Tomorrow, brother, we will see whose plan is better," he promised softly. Then he turned to return to his desk. It wouldn't hurt to look everything over one last time before tomorrow.


	4. The Color of a Promise

_I know everyone does one of these, but I just couldn't help it. It's pretty obvious, I should think. **Spoiler** if you didn't get the good ending in S II._

**The Color of a Promise**

My legs are aching as I reach the top of the mountain pass. We came this way once together, you and I, and we stopped here at the top. This is where we promised to return to, if anything happened. And so much has happened…

As I was half expecting, you are waiting here for me. You are standing in front of the x we marked on the stone less than a year ago. Was it really so short a time? It feels like an eternity since we took that plunge in a desperate attempt to survive. I feel a pang when I realize you have left behind your white coat that I hated so much. You look now just as you always looked.

Then you turn, and I see the difference. There is something new in your face. There is a sorrow in your eyes, and a desperation I don't truly understand. You step towards me, and begin to explain your reasoning. For so long, I've wanted to know why you did what you did. I hang on your every word. But then you stop talking, and you say that we have to fight, as the king of highland and the leader of the opposing army.

I don't want to fight you, Jowy. You are my best friend. Even after all that's happened, you are still my friend. No one could ever replace you. And after losing Nanami…I don't think I could bear to lose you too.

I tell you we don't have to fight, but you don't listen. You attack me three times, but I won't fight back. You can't understand this. You demand to know why I won't fight you. I tell you there is no reason to fight.

You tell me there is. You tell me that I have to destroy the last pieces of the Blight line. Don't you understand, Jowy? You aren't Jowy Blight to me. You're not wearing that horrible coat or the cold face you presented to the world as the king of Highland. You don't even have to be Jowy Atreides. To me, you are just Jowy, and all the family I have left.

You try to fight me again. I think you're hoping that if you goad me enough, I'll really fight back. But I won't. Even if you kill me, I could never kill you.

You step back again, asking why I won't fight. You tell me I have to fight for all my fallen comrades.

"Even so…I can't," I tell you. Can't you see, Jowy? _You_ are my comrade, too. I can't fight my comrade for my comrades. That doesn't make any sense. I'm so sick of the fighting, Jowy. We were supposed to be past this. The war is over. Isn't that enough?

You tell me that I can't betray all those people who put their trust in me. You tell me I can't betray the dreams of my sister. Right there, you have destroyed your argument, Jowy, if only you knew it. In the first place, I can't betray you, either. In the second…Nanami didn't want us to fight, Jowy. She kept trying to stop us, remember? She didn't understand why we would have to fight each other. I'm not sure I understand, either, and now I'm beginning to think maybe she was right to protest.

You attack me again, but again I only defend. I refuse to kill you, Jowy. Then you stop, again. You tell me that you were jealous of me, because I was strong and gentle and loved by everyone. Really, Jowy? Loved by everyone? Is that why you and Nanami were my only friends? I'm strong Jowy? Is that why I needed you to rescue me? I'm gentle, Jowy? Is that why I led an army? I think you are wrong in this, my friend. I am neither stronger nor gentler than you. As for being loved…Nanami and I loved _you_, and that's all that should have mattered.

You collapse to your knees. I don't understand what's going on, but as fear twists my guts I shout your name and run forward to you. Your staff rolls away, forgotten. You raise your head, now so pale, and explain that you used too much power, that because you used your rune alone, it's taking your life. You ask for my right hand, to give me your half of the rune. I can't help but refuse.

You say you're sorry. You tell me you can't stand it anymore, how many people you killed and hurt. You want nothing more than for the agony to end.

But I forgive you, Jowy. I forgive you the betrayal, and the death, and the pain you caused. So I tell you that I can't take the rune from you.

You beg me not to let the dream we had be in vain. Again I refuse, and you tell me there's no time. You don't see it, do you Jowy? I have also had enough death and pain. There is no way I'm going to accept immortality at the price of your life. I don't want to live forever, anyway. Without you or Nanami, there just isn't any point. You called me strong, before, but I am not strong enough to live alone for all time. I am not strong enough to take your life, even though it costs you pain.

"Even so…I can't," I tell you. How many arguments must you hit me with? You struck me with physical blows, before, but these words pierce me deeper and more painfully than your staff. Just like before, I will not attack back.

You say my name, the agony audible in your voice. Then you begin to glow, and a moment later I do as well. I have no idea what it going on, but I am half afraid that you will have your way, after all. But no, the light is healing you. You are standing again, amazed that you _can_ stand.

Leknaat arrives out of nowhere, and tells us this is the power of the Rune of Beginning. She tells us that this is my doing. She tells us to go see the world.

You protest that you have sinned, killed people. You still do not believe you deserve to live. Leknaat tells you the memories will not fade, but that you can make the world better. See, Jowy? She agrees with me. You can't erase what you've done, and I can't erase what I've done, but together maybe we can do better things.

Leknaat disappears again. You don't face me, as you say that Jowy Blight is no more. You will forget the name of Jowy, and this land, you say. No, my friend. Do not forget the name of Jowy. What will I call you, if not Jowy? But I say "of course," because I understand what you are trying to say, and I am too glad that you have decided to live to argue with you now.

You turn to me, and tell me that this is where it began before. Let this be the place where we begin our journey again.

I agree, of course, but I know how it is different, this time. We will not be separated this time. Nor are we running for our lives as we leave. I make you a new promise, Jowy. The last promise was made in fear and at night, and it was the promise of two boys. But we are not boys anymore. Over the course of this war, we have ceased to be boys. Instead, I make you a promise as a man, beneath the sun and with this feeling of hope. I promise you, that I will not leave you, nor will I ever forsake you. And that's a promise that I intend to keep.


	5. The Color of my Captain

_AN: from SIII. No Spoilers that I am aware of. I still do not own Suikoden, it's characters, or even their emotions. Konami owns everything. Enjoy!_

**The Color of my Captain**

There are some things I will never tell you. You are my captain, and it would be unprofessional for me to tell you these things.

Like how extraordinary I find your eyes, or your hair. It's a crime to keep it pinned up the way you do. Just as it's a shame to hide your beauty beneath an icy mask and a uniform.

Or how amazing and inspiring I find your calm competence. You are capable of handling any situation that comes your way: from surprise attacks, to fighting on the same side as former enemies, to dealing with a stingy council.

You've got a good heart. I see it, and so do the others. None of us could ever claim that heart, though we might wish to. Though you are a supremely able woman, there are times you let your guard down. You smile to see children playing at being knights in the city. You blush when someone remarks on your beauty. In some things, you are still a child. There are times you are vulnerable, and I would do anything to keep you from harm. There are times someone does hurt you, and I would do anything to comfort you.

I would give my very life if you asked it, and I know the others would do the same. The only one who doubts your abilities is you.

I see that you hate being a venerated "hero." You don't do these things for the glory. You do them because they need to be done. We know.

My captain, I respect, honor, and love you. To my very last breath, I love you.


	6. The Color of Forgiveness

_I originally wrote this from the point of view of IV's hero (I think the one he's talking to is rather clear), but it could also be for II. Alas, I still do not own anything resembling Suikoden._

**The Color of Forgiveness**

I think, my friend, that "forgiveness" is a word that you do not understand. I think I had better explain it to you.

Forgiveness means everything is okay. It means that I don't care about the things you might have done, or the words you said, or the thoughts you had. Forgiveness means there is no punishment for the wrongs that were done.

Forgiveness means acceptance. No one is perfect; no one can do all the right things all the time. All of us make bad decisions, bad judgments, and bad moves. Sometimes life only offers us bad choices to make, and we must deal with the consequences. Forgiveness means these imperfections, these flaws, don't matter as much as you think.

Forgiveness is like an eraser. When you use it, you rub out whatever error was made. Sometimes residue is left behind, but you can't make out the error any more. It's gone. Forgiveness says whatever happened can be, if not fixed or undone, at least gotten past.

Forgiveness means I don't change the way I think or feel about you. Forgiveness means I will keep on acting as I have always acted. Forgiveness means I will not build walls between us. Forgiveness means I will take down the walls I may have built.

My friend, I have forgiven you wholly. To me, you are as pure as is possible. I have not forgotten what you did, but I have accepted that those actions are a part of you that you regret. And all those here, if they have not forgiven you, will pretend so, for my sake.

But there is one person who has not forgiven you, and that is yourself. Perhaps you are not ready yet. Perhaps you feel there is some unfinished business between us. I don't know, but I think the next move on the board is yours. I am waiting for you. If you want to talk, I will listen. If you want to be silent, I will sit with you and ward off the night. If you want to cry, I will lend you my shoulder. If you wish to tear down this wall you have built around yourself, I will lend you my tools and my hands.

Forgiveness means I will help you conquer yourself. Forgiveness means that I know what you have done, and you are still my friend. Can you not forgive yourself?


	7. The Color of my Curse

_Disclaimer: Once again, I own nothing. Not a car, not a house, and certainly not the genius that is Suikoden. This is for SI, and contains some minor spoilers if you haven't gotten a few hours into the game…I'm not sure I like how it turned out, so read and review, as always._

_This is at the request of Milia Alexandros_

**The Color of my Curse**

I am going to be in so much trouble when I get home.

Defying the Commander, running off to help the rebels, fighting imperial armies, establishing a headquarters and building my _own_ army…

I think "trouble" might be putting it mildly.

In the grander scheme of things, though, it hardly seems to matter.

It's not like I left home by choice, now is it? Windy was after Ted's Rune, so we had to run. Still, it wasn't easy. Even harder was leaving Ted, my best friend, behind.

That seems to be my curse, now. Cursed Rune, he called it. I can understand why. Either I leave my friends and family behind, or they leave me behind.

I am going to be alone forever, aren't I?

I'm too young to be saying "forever." I think I might be too young to grasp the concept, yet. Maybe in a few hundred years, after watching all my old friends die and all my dreams fade away…maybe then I'll be ready to understand "forever."

Then again, I could die in this war. That scares me. Somehow, I became a leader—nay, the _figurehead_, which is worse—for a cause that wasn't mine. I'm not entirely certain yet whether I actually _believe_ it's a Cause worth dying for, or whether I'm just fighting because it's what I'm expected to do.

No, I can't think that way. I have a reason to fight. I _do_. For Ted, for the Emperor, for all the people I never met who have suffered because of Windy…it is for them that I fight. Does it really matter so much if my reasons are the same as those who follow me, so long as we have the same goal?

I will bring Windy down. Whatever it takes. Overthrowing the Empire, standing up to my father, gambling for the money to support an army…I do it. Because neither of us can rest until one of us is defeated. This began with the Soul Eater, and the rune will end it. Somehow.


	8. The Color of Silence

_AN: Ok, this one's extremely short, which is why if I get just one review I'll post the next one. It's kind of just a look into the mindset of the "main character," and it really works for I, II, or IV. Much thanks and cookies to my recent reviewers: Wind Omega, Chaltruvind, Mithrigil, and K'arthur._

_Disclaimer: I thought I owned Suikoden and its characters, but the men in white coats told me differently._

**The Color of Silence**

This silent-hero thing isn't as great as you might think.

For one thing, you kind of have to agree to whatever anyone tells you. It's one thing if it's your strategist, but when it's some hulking brute with no more brains than a furfly, it gets irritating.

Everyone seems to forget about you, except when they need their figurehead. Then, they trot you out to wave your sword around. Other than that, you're left on your own, or worse, sent to bed like a child. And you can't even _protest_.

And people are constantly putting words in your mouth. Nevermind that they have no idea what you're thinking or feeling, they think they can speak for you.

It doesn't matter that you're one of the most experienced fighters they've got, or that you're the supposed leader. You are assumed to be helpless. It really bites.

Plus, you can't order an ice cream sundae.


	9. The Color of Resignation

_AN: Here's the second one. Wind Omega requested this character. For anyone else who might need a hint, I'll just say this person was in the first three Suikodens. So...the time is probably after SIII ends. No spoilers, I don't think. Cookies to the two people who reviewed chapter 8 (rather quickly, to be honest), so here's 9 as promised.  
_

_Disclaimer: Of course it's mine! I own it all! Suikoden, it's characters, the state of Hawaii and the planet Mars. And if you believe that you'd best check yourself into a mental institution immediately._

**The Color of Resignation**

I tell myself, over and over again, that I am resigned.

What I am resigned to seems to vary with the situation, but it always applies. I think I can make a blanket statement and say I am resigned to never being quite satisfied. To never quite having what I want.

Now, that seems like a selfish thing to say, at the very least. But I have tried to keep my wants modest. I have tried to curb my desires. And yet, my wishes, modest as they are, are never quite fulfilled. And so I resign myself to second-best.

That sometimes seems to be the story of my career. I was trained as a strategist, but I am never quite the best. I am never the one to receive the accolades. I am dismissed, ridiculed, relegated to the status of unimportant hanger-on. Especially when _that_ family becomes involved. Then I become invisible and utterly unnecessary.

Occasionally I am thankful for that. The blame is rarely mine alone. Nor do I wish to carry that burden of responsibility. To be responsible for the outcome of an entire war is too much. I'd rather not, thank you very much. But still…it would be nice, sometimes, not to be the extra. Not to be just the student, or just the childhood friend, or just the mentor. Maybe, just once, I want to be myself. Just me, without being someone else's addition.

I have also tried to resign myself to war. I know it's in the job description, so I shouldn't be surprised. But I tend to find myself hip-deep before I realize a war is occurring. After the third gathering of the stars, I really should be resigned. Fate begins to seem all too real, and I should just accept it.

But I don't want to. I don't want to accept what war does to people, what it takes away. It steals homes and dignity and lives. It harms the innocent while the ruthless prosper. I hate it! I know it's necessary at times, but I still detest that necessity.

Is it so wrong of me to want a little peace, a little comfort, a little time to just sit and enjoy my friends and family without having to try to save nations?

Family, ha. That's a laugh. I tried that. That worked _real_ well. That lying, cheating, son of…no, I promised myself I wouldn't go there. No need to dwell on the past.

It just seems like every time I reach out for a meager bit of comfort, it is snatched away. And so I decide I am resigned, while deep inside my heart is shouting for just one thing to go right. Just one thing that doesn't make me want to scream and throw things and curse at the unfairness of it all.

I suppose I am far too old to behave like that. I am a grown woman, and I must react that way. And I do try. It's just hard, sometimes, with the war and the grief and the doubt, to be thankful.

But I am resigned. Or if I'm not, I'm working on it. I will be. Because what other choice is there, but to accept the fate I've been given?


End file.
